Just Call Me Ishmael
by scribbling wordsmith
Summary: A short third person monologue based on James' obsession with Lily and what exactly it did to him. Oh the fate of all dear captains, be a misunderstood fate indeed. READxREVIEW please.


**Just Call Me Ishmael**

Sometimes a man can lose more than his heart to a woman. And sometimes more than his heart isn't enough. For a certain girl I came across some time ago in my life, the heart of a dear friend of mine wasn't even sub-par.

I'll never forget the day he first spotted her. The words he had begun speaking to me suddenly faded away as a result of unfocused attention; and there he stood dazed and silent watching her every move. I tried to shake him, unsure of what had caused such a reaction, but he was hypnotized, standing in a trance I've seen very few men ever rendered to by anything or anyone.

Following his gaze I found her as well, completely unaware of the feelings she erupted within him. This girl in the white dress. She surely was beautiful, I was keen to admit it, but yet still I was surprised at the fact that the mere presence of her could render my friend speechless. Obviously I did not see what _he_ could see.

I always say that is the day he lost his soul to her; the day he truly no longer governed his own life, but rather she did, completely unconscious to the fact that she had done anything at all. Unknowingly this girl, in the white dress, had become his reality and it almost seemed manic the way he would chase after her. She was all he thought about. He memorized the very essence of her and recounted the list that proved her perfection over and over again. It certainly wore me down, but as a true friend I listened.

It was a while later when I realized just how deep he had fallen and how much she was taking advantage of. For you see, it struck me that there was no way she could be unconscious of what she was doing anymore. There was no way that this girl, the girl in the white dress, could continue on being completely ignorant of his come ons, for my friend had made his presence known; made it clear of what he wanted. But yet she was still oblivious?

Or perhaps she played oblivious.

No matter; _**now**_ it was clear, she knew what she was doing; in fact, she looked as if she enjoyed being chased. The hunt thrilled her and yet she only saw one side of it. She could not have known that with each passing day and each eluded attack he broke a little, that dear friend of mine. He broke for her, and she continued to play him for a fool.

I tried to convince him otherwise of pursuing her, pointing out the obvious that she was merely toying with him; She, this girl in the white dress. But he didn't listen. He advanced on her with a passionate vengeance for her heart. After all, she had taken his, it seemed only fair that he take hers as well.

But I still grew worried.

Each failed attempt, each fruitless hunt left him cut open and a piece of his soul went missing. He began to lose himself to her; his mind going just as quickly as the rest of his humanity, and I no longer recognized the friend I had once held so dear.

This couldn't be healthy.

The girl in the white dress was killing him, killing who he was, didn't he see that? I pleaded with him, "Please my friend, surely she shall be the death of you, surely this obsession with her is your end!" But he waved me off, "With death comes new life and with end a new beginning. Rather obsession or adoration; She is certainly mine."

I came to the conclusion right then and there that he had completely lost it.

He had given more than I thought humanly possible for a man to give. He voluntarily sacrificed himself for her, this girl in the white dress, and even still he found no cost too high. That led me to the realization that sometimes a man can lose more than his heart to a woman. And sometimes more than his heart isn't enough.

For a certain girl in a white dress, who I came across some time ago in my life, the heart of a dear friend of mine wasn't even sub-par. And in the end, he went down fully tied to her and her alone. His self, his soul, his being. I suppose that is the fate of all good captains one day. But if that be the absolute truth, just call me Ishmael.

* * *

**AN: **_A monologue i wrote for one of my classes. It can be seen from any of the Marauder's point of views, but honestly it's from mine. As if i personally was in the story. as a writer, and a secret lover of the theater who longs to be on stage once again, I get a kick out of delving into the story with characters of all shapes and sizes. This is how I saw James' obsession._

_I always kind of pictured Lily to be James' white whale and so I wrote it on paper [or rather typed it onto screen It didn't start off as a Lily and James fic, but it works. I like my stories to be flexible. Review if you understand and/or like the literary reference to Moby Dick. Thanks for reading._

_-scribblingwordsmith_


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